The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight (7 page)

Stupid woman
. One night of off-the-scales sex didn’t make for a relationship.

Nathan clamped a pair of ear defenders over her head, but they had no microphone, so she didn’t have to make conversation.

The helicopter took off, and she was distracted by the amazing view from the window. She’d never experienced anything like it, much wider and clearer than from a plane.

She turned and mouthed,
Wow.

His eyes sparkled.
Fantastic
, he mouthed back. He seemed to be enjoying the flight as much as she was. With his body snuggled close to hers, she could stay here all day. What a great way to join the mile-high club. Except this thing probably didn’t get a mile up, and she was no way getting up close and personal with Nathan while Dalton watched.

The landscape was smothered in white. The storm had left Michigan completely blanketed. A fantastic landscape to go with an out-of-this-world flight. Lumps and higher drifts indicated where there might be trees or hills. Rivers were delineated by solid ice. How many cars had been trapped as hers was? And how many were still stuck?

She didn’t want to think about that. But when she glanced at Dalton and Nathan, they were staring at each other, as if intent in conversation. Their mouths weren’t moving, though.

Patches of rooftops showed houses where the insulation wasn’t as good as it could be. Cars sat unmoving below them, with a few heavier vehicles toiling between them. Overhead cables dripped white.

As they got nearer to Chicago, the highways were clear. Only the drifts of snow reminded the viewer of the devastation of the night before. Nathan’s wasn’t the only helicopter in the sky. Presumably rescue vehicles, weather, and local radio stations—only they never got close enough to make out more than the coloring.

The helicopter hovered over the city, above the tall buildings of downtown, older redbrick and stone buildings punctuating the gleaming splendor. Even the Chicago River was frozen, its wide expanse stilled.

They swept around. Nathan touched her shoulder. He pointed down to where the lighthouse was totally obscured by a blanket of ice and snow, forming weird patterns around its length.

She’d been to Chicago before but never seen it like this. It was awesome and a bit scary to think that weather could make this difference. The ice encroached into Lake Michigan, extending past the breakers, orange buoys trapped in its claws.

The machine turned again and soared up, then started its descent. Now that was scary, although Kristen grabbed the nearest handholds and took deep breaths to still her panic and the mild nausea that rose to clog her throat. The machine seemed to plummet, especially compared to the gradual approach of a plane. She’d never realized a plane’s descent could be described that way before, but now she did. And wished she didn’t.

She followed Nathan and Dalton’s example when they removed their headsets and placed them back in the holders.

The landing was amazingly soft, considering she’d expected to be jolted out of her seat. Until Nathan flexed his hand, she didn’t know she’d gripped his or that she was squeezing it so hard.

He hadn’t tried to stop her. He’d endured when he didn’t have to.

Dalton climbed down first, springing nimbly to the ground. The blades still rotated lazily as Nathan helped her down. He pulled her across the landing circle to a small door at the side of a tall building, following Dalton. The building was swimmingly tall. Shit, how the other half lived.

Nathan carried her bag. He paused outside a bank of elevators and felt in the back pocket of his jeans for a plastic card that he swiped through a slot. The sound receded when the door slammed closed. “Like it?”

Her ears rang, but she nodded. “Thank you.”

Dalton laughed. “The first time is a bit overwhelming. But then, you can say that about most things.”

As if on cue, someone’s phone rang. Dalton’s. He answered it with a brief, “Yes,” then glanced at Nathan as he cut the call. “We’re needed,” he said.

Nathan nodded and turned to her with a grimace. “Do you want to wait in my apartment? I can’t take you with me. It’s business.”

The sense of exclusion persisted. In any case, she wanted to get to her brother’s house and assure them she was well. “I’m fine,” she said airily. “Thanks for the lift.”

The elevator arrived, but Nathan only waved Dalton in. “See you downstairs.” The doors closed, leaving them alone.

He backed her against the wall, pinning her in. “Is there something wrong?”

She forced a bright expression. “No. Should there be?”

“Don’t kid a kidder. Tell me.”

“No. Real life is slamming down on me, I guess.” That was the truth. “For a day, I learned what life could be like. Now all I have to do is earn it.”

He examined her face, cupped her jaw with one hand to stop her from looking away. “It’s more than that. You should be fine. You’ll contact me if you have any problems?” He handed her a card.

“Sure.”
No. Not a cat in hell’s chance.

As if he heard her, he frowned. “Promise me. Will you give me your address?”

“No.” That was clear enough. Time to be straight. “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen here. There’s no guarantee the ballet will take me or that I’ll like it,” she added hastily when she recalled her subterfuge. “And then I’ll be moving on.” Home, most likely.

“Before you do, let me know you’re okay.” He pressed a hot kiss to her lips.

She wouldn’t. He must have plenty of women falling over themselves for him. Last night she was convenient, and maybe he liked her. Here, where he had women to choose from, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She tried not to care.

He studied her face and kissed her again, this time lingering to cup a breast through her T-shirt and caress it softly. Any more and she’d cry. Then she’d hate herself. She was so not a crier.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth and took possession before withdrawing with aching slowness. Then he gazed at her. “Remember, lovers can be friends.” Turning abruptly, he swiped the card through the slot again.

She glanced at the card, which contained only his name, address, and cell number. She guessed he didn’t give this one to many people. Anybody as rich as he was would have a different number for business. She should feel privileged, but she only felt miserable. Shoving the card in her pocket, she told herself she’d only keep it until she got to her brother’s place. A clean break was called for here.

From then on, his touch was impersonal. She refused to let him give her a ride to her place but insisted on getting a cab. Her brother didn’t live in the city like Nathan in his lakeside apartment block, but the cab fare wouldn’t wipe her out. She didn’t want him to know where she was staying, didn’t want any lingering hopes remaining. Teenage memories of sitting by a phone that didn’t ring, waiting for the knock on the door that never came, inured her to that.

Outside his apartment building, he handed the cab driver a fifty. “If you won’t let me take you, let me do this.” His pleading expression made her laugh, but she still felt bad for letting him. Gloom descended on her, contrasting her excitement when she’d left home to come here.

He closed the door behind her and watched as the cab drove off. Never to cross paths again, probably.

He’d look up a Kristen Lowe from Des Moines, maybe find one or two, but he wouldn’t find her. But he’d discover her story of being a famous European star was a fallacy. Oh, shit, why not put the right label on it? A downright lie. However much he’d provoked her, she shouldn’t have done it.

The cab drove out of the city, toward her brother’s place. Not having a car would inconvenience her. She’d call the number Nathan had given her, probably get the car she’d left behind towed to the nearest town, and go from there. Although she never wanted to see it again, she might be able to sell it and get something else.

If she didn’t get the job at the ballet, she’d have to get a waitressing job. Maybe work in a store somewhere. She’d done that before. And she could get around on the L train.

She was thinking defeat before she got there. Even after doing courses in assertion and confidence, she still fell into that trap. It came from years of rejections, being told to her face that she wasn’t as good as the other people there.

But oh, it was good to see her brother standing outside the student house, arms wide in welcome when Kristen climbed out of the cab. But even she didn’t expect to fall into his arms and burst into tears.

* * * *

Stu was studying at St. Paul, doing a good job by all accounts. He’d passed his first year and was well into his sophomore, and lived in a house he shared with two other students.

It was nice to get a room of her own, especially since she hadn’t expected it. She’d thought her brother would put her on the sofa, but one of the students had moved on, so she could take this one. A tiny room but still good. Her luggage had arrived, thank fuck, because it held all her dancing gear, and it waited for her. She’d sent it a week ago, before the storm.

Already patches of green were showing through the snow in the scrappy front yards of this district.

Stuart took Kristen’s tears as stress over the storm, and Kristen let him think that way. Sitting at the kitchen table eating the plateful of grilled bacon and eggs that Stuart had cooked for her, Kristen let herself grow away from the experience of the last twenty-four hours.

Except she let the name slip. “It was okay, a huge house in the middle of the country. Really beautiful.” She paused to take a mouthful of egg. “Two men lived there, but the housekeeper too.” She made it sound as if she spent most of her time with the housekeeper. “It was kind of them to take me in.”

Stu snorted. “What else could they do? Let you die at their gates? What were their names?”

“Cora—”

“Not the housekeeper. The men! Were they rich?”

Devastatingly so
. “I guess. Above my touch, anyhow.”

Stu grinned. “Interesting way of putting it. Still reading those historical books?”

She shrugged. Her secret vice wasn’t so secret in family circles. She adored times gone by, and one of her ambitions was to make it to England one day. Scotland, as well. She wanted to explore all the places she read about. “When I can.”

Nobody saw her e-reader. It was packed with historical romances, Regencies in particular. She gobbled them up, and since Jane Austen had only written half a dozen books, Kristen was always on the lookout for more stories about her favorite era. “When I have the time.”

“Would either of the men you spent the night with last night have worked in Regency times?”

At least she could still laugh. The thought of the powerhouses that were Dalton and Nathan in the immaculate tailoring and embroidered vests of the early nineteenth century made her smile. On the other hand, she could picture them all too well in tight breeches.
Mmm, nice.

Well, she might have said good-bye to them that morning, but she had her dreams. Maybe she’d find a store that would sell her a little aid, although nothing would ever feel as good as Nathan’s cock driving hard and sure inside her welcoming pussy.

“Maybe. Not aristocrats, but prize fighters and gang leaders.”

“That sounds interesting. What were their names?”

“Dalton and Nathan.”

“Did they have last names?”

“Dalton Thorndyke. I didn’t catch the other.”

Stu shot her a suspicious glance, then recognition sparked something. He got out his phone and swiped it open. “I’ve heard that name before. Give me a minute.” Rapidly, he entered the text in the browser, then raised his brows and handed the phone over. “Is this him?”

“Yes.” Unmistakably Dalton Thorndyke, but dressed in a tux that had obviously been made for him. Rapidly Kristen revised her opinion. He wore the clothes with polish, an air of entitlement. Underneath, she read why. He was as wealthy as Nathan. Maybe the house belonged to him. She’d just assumed it was Nathan’s. Dalton owned a chain of hotels; other things too. He was seriously rich.

Wow
. For a moment, her finger hovered over the browser, but she forced it away. She didn’t want to know. Nathan was above her touch, and she’d had him for a night. He probably worked with Dalton in some capacity. She didn’t care, and she didn’t want to know. If she found out, she’d forever think of him, and she wanted the memory of last night to remain intact with all its clouds and angels. Nathan could be anything, anyone that way. It didn’t matter what he did or was in real life. “Yes, that’s one of the men.”

Stu gave a long, low whistle.

“Hey, my sister the famous dancer making influential friends.”

She gave him a baleful look. “Aspiring.”

“No, you dance. I’ve seen you. Just that you need the right break.”

It was getting too late for that. Already she’d learned different forms of dance, looking for openings in contemporary dance studios and even musicals, although competition there was just as fierce. She was thinking of getting a job teaching, but this last break, the chance of an audition at a prestigious ballet house, had driven her right back to the beginning, hope burgeoning.

She changed the subject. “Where do you work, Stu?”

“In a bar. Weird place, gothic-themed. You know, vampires and bats and shit like that. I have to wear black to work, but other than that, blood’s not compulsory.”

So Stu was a Goth? Somehow she doubted that. He wasn’t wearing black now but a checked shirt and jeans.

At least one of them had landed on their feet.

“If your audition doesn’t pan out, come around. The boss is looking for bar staff.”

So another job in a bar.
Great
. The audition had better be good. Kristen set her mind and her heart to doing the best job possible tomorrow.

Chapter Four

“Sorry, you’re not quite what we’re looking for.”

The voice came out of the dark, but she recognized the man who’d greeted her brusquely on her arrival at the theater. She’d done everything she could, performed her steps crisply and with verve, but that hadn’t been enough.